


The bondage of Moths

by A_Nobelmonster



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: CSA, M/M, non-con peircings, refrences to fisting, sexual abuse of a minor, so canon abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 10:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15140795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Nobelmonster/pseuds/A_Nobelmonster
Summary: The regent tugs at your hair and your wooden limbs creak under the pressure. You open your mouth and his voice comes out. His hand is all the way in your body and your muscles jerk into a stiff act where he makes love.





	The bondage of Moths

The maids come in they take your clothes. They remark on how cute and small you are. Just like a doll. So pretty. They say that the regent will love you and it echoes the brief meeting you had with the man days ago. He also had admired you on the street with stolen dreams. The maids have thin hands that scrub and apply rose oil and polish your skin until it is as soft as a baby. You feel like a baby, you can take care of yourself but they are unyielding.

Freshwater pearls are woven into your now glistening brown curls. You hum the song your mother taught you about the merry king. It's a bit boring but you feel cared for in a way that is new….tentatively exciting. A choker of emerald kisses your throat. They drape a cloth that is pinned with golden clasps at your shoulder and waist. You feel expensive. You feel like it is possible to be treasured. This will be your new dawn and you will live it for mama gloriously and with hard work.

The regent comes in and you’re still humming the hymn because sometimes you get nervous and the song reminds you of mama which makes you feel brave. More brave than you are.

You need to be smart because nothing is given freely.

You wait for him to instruct to tell. Maybe you will hang from his arm, maybe you will be educated in the political affairs of the court. It is both and it is none. You are educated in the way to lay still without flinching, he tells you and only once how to lower or raise your pelvis depending on the position he has put you in. When he enters your soul exists, to and fro.

Once mama snuck you into a puppet show and you did not like it because the puppets jerked to and fro. They did not move realistically. You could not imagine the story as the puppeteer wove the tale. And now your joints are wooden. The regent tugs at your hair and your wooden limbs creak under the pressure. You open your mouth and his voice comes out. His hand is all the way in your body and your muscles jerk into a stiff act where he makes love.

"Mama"

You say it only once and it is hours later when you are tired but the regent is not and the pin in his hand is making a sacrifice of your youth. Do the gods accept pounds of flesh from the unwilling? The nipple rings connect to a chain that is a glorified leash but you do not understand this until the next day when you are taken to your knees with the small linked metal still sick with ruined sleep.

You do not say mama's name anymore because you cannot bear the idea of her looking down from heaven, you cannot have her see this so you only mention her name in the haven of your mind when you are alone. You recount the silk nightgown you are gifted and the golden paint on your cheek and the honeyed pears you enjoyed for breakfast that morning. Look, mama, I am well and I am happy. You don't have to worry mama.

When the regent fucks your like a bitch being breed in a kennel you do let yourself sing the hymn your mama taught you. You are merry.

You lie in the words as he lays in you.

You understand that the strings you had were not visible to yourself so the regent made them so. He will allow everyone to see the due you pay for your luxury. He pulls on the chains to guide you to the bed and the buds of your nipples bleed but you're bleeding out from many places.

Sometimes he has a collar and sometimes the sewing pins from the maid carefully line your spin until he has deemed that you have cried enough for him to come. Your baby soft skin heals so quickly that he does not seem to worry that you will simply bleed out during sleep by sheer will alone. Your skin is soft but underneath the dermal layer, granite is growing voraciously replacing tender sinew.

The piercings will mold to your skin anchored in the stone your muscles beg you to become. It is like the white moths in the soot, you are adapting for the storm that is the palace. You let him feast on your thighs. You let him bow your head with gossamer strings. You darken but you smile for mama because if hell is other people so is heaven.

And you hope that the right heir will clear your lungs of soot one day so she may find you again.


End file.
